


Must Have Been Something I Ate

by write_light



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Date, Bodily Functions, Embarrassed Derek, Embarrassed Stiles, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Alive, First Dates, Fluff and Crack, Hints of Magical Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: Summary: Beacon Hills is a tranquil place (apart from the occasional supernatural outbreaks).  All sorts of people are happily alive.  Not Stiles.  Oh, he's alive – and he's grateful for that, really he is - he's just not happy.It's been a day.





	Must Have Been Something I Ate

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Written for **[Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com)** and especially for **GobsmackApplejack** who donated generously to one of the listed charities (see endnotes) and who gave me a wonderful prompt: _"Blind Date AU for Sterek, with lots of people still alive in Beacon Hills; Stiles and Derek are set up but it goes badly, not only due to a mysterious allergic reaction, but literally everyone interrupting their date with embarrassing personal stories and bad behavior; Stiles and Derek spend the night at the hospital and end up getting to know each other pretty well. And something about Derek accidentally maiming himself while staring at Stiles' butt crack."_

****

 

**11:59 PM**

Stiles wanted to slide down, cover his face with the blanket, just… disappear. The hospital bed had taken on a shape neither "V" nor "N" exactly, but it held Stiles upright – no slipping away now. The blanket, if you could call it that, was a threadbare web of grayish polyester and endless static shocks.  
   
He was in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, _again_ , after a really _really_ bad reaction to the crawfish gumbo his blind date had recommended. Oh, and that blind date? Sitting right there, bedside, watching Stiles vomit, off and on, for the past three hours. Looking fucking unbelievably handsome and rugged and not at all werewolf-y and not leaving. His name was Derek Hale, and his hand rested on the mattress not two inches from Stiles' arm. There was tingling. Definitely.  
   
"Who gave him the right to be so damn attractive on a first date?" slipped out as Stiles stared up at the ceiling, dehydrated and dizzy.  
   
It was barely audible over the increasingly heated ten-person argument taking place at the foot of his bed. Derek's large eyes grew larger, and his mouth twitched up at one corner but he pretended he'd heard nothing. He watched the moles slowly slip from view as Stiles shyly turned his head toward him. His mouth was a small "o" of "oh shit did I say that out loud?"

Derek rested his hand gently on Stiles' forearm, registered the reaction, heard the various beeping machines register it as well, and dropped his head shyly. His thumb made lazy ovals in the dark hair just above Stiles' wrist.

***

**SIX HOURS EARLIER**

"Why is Derek Hale all over your computer screen?" Scott asked, worried.

"I don't go on _blind_ dates, Scott."

"Don't you trust me?"

"With my life. Not my sex life."

"You don't have a sex life; you pine after every guy you see on campus-"

"No, I don't!"

"I got every single text last semester - those ones with the pictures? Two of my coworkers think I'm gay now."

"You're welcome?"

"You agreed to go. Now stop stalking him – this is Derek Hale, we know him!" Scott pleaded, then leaned in closer to the screen. "Are you looking at his credit rating?!"

Stiles hastily clicked the window closed.

"He's got money. More than you and me combined, Scotty. Spends a lot of time grooming that stubble, too."

"More than you and me combined. Look, you're stalling. You can't back out now."

"But does _he_ want to do this?"

***

"Does _he_ want to do this?" Derek protested.

"Quit stalling!" Cora yelled up the stairs.

"He'll be ready in a second," Laura yelled back. She was primping his hair and tucking the shirt collar down around his tie.

"I can do that," Derek said gruffly and fumbled with the collar dramatically, eating up valuable minutes.

"The reservation is for 7:00 p.m. and it's 6:30 now," Cora reminded them.

"And we're not in Los Angeles. I can get to his house in under ten minutes," he yelled back. "Did it have to be the son of the sheriff?" he asked Laura, softly.

"You're not a criminal. You're a werewolf. He'll learn about us sooner or later, so better he has a good impression of you before he finds out the whole truth about this town."

"And about the guy who's dating his son."

"Stop worrying, you'll ruin your appetite. Oh for – you look _great_ , Derek."

"So does Stiles!" Cora chimed in from the stairs, where she sat with her chin in her hands. "Although he might be a college graduate by the time you get down here!"

***

Stiles arrived at the restaurant at 6:45, nervously early, but saw no sign of a tall, bearded man out front, where they'd agreed to meet. He got a drink at the bar with his fake ID and returned to the patio. _Still no Derek_. He practiced.

 _Hey there, Derek. Thanks for coming._ "Nope."

 _Hi, I'm your blind date. I'm not blind, and it's a bit rushed to call this a date._ "Oh, _wow_ , no."

Stiles took a deep swig of the drink and ordered another from the passing waiter. It was 6:48.

***

Derek had time to practice too, locked in a traffic jam behind a three-car pileup and unable to get to get to an exit. He watched the dashboard clock ticking the minutes away, and imagined the worst.

 _I'm sorry I'm Derek Hale. I mean, I'm sorry I'm late._ Derek sighed.

 _You must be Stiles, the sheriff's kid._ "Shut up shut up shut up."

 _Silence. Good choice._ He rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

***

"Fuck, he's not coming. Scott I'm going to kill you for this. He stood me _up_ , man." Stiles texted that series of sentences to Scott at exactly 7:00 p.m. "'Not delivered'? What does the bro code even mean-"

"Another drink, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Stiles grunted.

"Still waiting, then?" the waiter asked, more pointedly.

"No, no, I'm good," Stiles said, wishing he hadn't spun around so fast.

"Isaac?!"

Isaac blurred, then sharpened into focus, except for his fuzzy scarf.

"It's a job. Just for the break. Who are you waiting for?"

"Derek Hale," Stiles said, feeling a rush of self-confidence or rum.

"You and-" he cut out as the passing waitress jabbed him hard in the ribs.

"Allison?" Stiles was more confused now.

"Hi Stiles."

"Scott didn't say-"

"Well he doesn't know, so keep it to yourself."

"His date's late." Isaac said meaningfully. "Derek Hale."

Allison pressed her lips together and decided not to say anything.

"Is something wrong with him? What's wrong with him?" Stiles panicked.

***

Derek stared at his phone. He could call. He could explain. No, he couldn't. It was 7:05 p.m. and he was ruining his first blind date, his first date in ages.

"AND?" Cora's text buzzed to life on the screen. "Is he as cute as we promised?"

A chorus of honks arose behind him. He ignored her texts and sped forward past the accident scene.

When he braked hard in front of the restaurant, the tire squeals made the entire patio turn to look, and even the valet jumped back from the black muscle car.

Stiles' eyes narrowed as he took in the moment. This had to be Derek Hale. And when he was sure it was his date, in all his tall-dark-and-handsomeness, Stiles' mouth hung open. Derek turned and caught sight of him, but Stiles was still gaping. Derek waved tentatively.

***

"Hi, Derek. I must be Stiles," said Stiles' mouth before he could control it properly. He winced.

"Derek, yes I am," Derek said clumsily and stared at the ground. "Sorry I'm late – there was an accident."

"Oh my god, are you all right?"

"Not me, just on the road."

"I had a few. Drinks. While I was waiting."

Derek's left eyebrow went up, and he silently counted the empty glasses on the table behind Stiles.

As the daylight finally faded, a neon sign flicked on above them, filling the patio with a rich orange glow as the giant crawfish lit up, and below it the name, L'Acadien. Derek's eyes glowed red.

Allison reappeared, Isaac not far behind.

"Your table is ready, Mr. Hale-"

"Our table-" Stiles interrupted.

"Mr. Hale," Isaac suppressed a snicker poorly and Allison elbowed him again.

"What kind of waiter wears a scarf?" Derek asked quietly, for Stiles' ears only, and Stiles mouthed "I _know!_ "

Things were off to a promising start.

***

"Is that Stiles?" Melissa asked the man across from her, who'd just taken her hand.

"Here? We can't afford a place like- I mean, _he_ can't afford it. Oh no! It is." He dropped her hand and ducked down in his seat, nodding for Melissa to do the same, but she stared at him like he was insane.

"You two!" came a loud voice, and a long shadow fell across their table.

"Argent?" the sheriff asked, looking around the man to see if Stiles had noticed them. "What are you-?"

"-doing here with Melissa McCall? My question exactly."

"We're on a date. Are you?" Melissa asked, hoping he'd leave soon.

"What? No, just grabbing a drink with Peter- with an old friend; Allison's a server here for the semester break."

"Still dating Isaac, is she?" Melissa asked, her voice calm but her eyes deadly.

"Is Scott still a were-" was all Chris got out before Melissa's foot hit his shin.

"Where- where is Scott these days?" he corrected. "You know, you might consider dating someone you have more in common with. Fewer _secrets_."

The Sheriff had been preoccupied, using Chris as a shield between himself and Stiles, but he wasn't deaf.

"Don't you have some guns to polish, Argent?"

"Many. You two have a nice date, then."

As he swept off, so did the temporary cover he offered. Stiles was sitting in a booth, not five tables away, and there was alcohol on the table and a _man_.

"Leave them be. He's an adult," Melissa chided.

"Not according the alcohol laws of this state. And who is that with him?"

***

"Derek Hale," said Chris Argent, a wide, false smile plastered to his face.

Derek was silent.

"Oh hey, Mr. Argent, how's the hunting?" Stiles asked, and Derek gave him an alarmed glance.

"I only kill what needs killing. Rabid things. You know, werewolves bite their mates," he said softly, leaning into Stiles' space while glaring at Derek.

"Did Allison tell you that?" Stiles snapped, making Derek choke violently on his water.

As Chris stormed off, Stiles asked Derek, "Are you blushing?"

"No, I-"

"It's- I like it."

"Never heard anyone stand up to Argent quite like that."

"Yeah well, he's got no right to talk bad about the Hales, even if you do have that feud going back… "

Derek was staring at him, a mix of astonishment and shock and appreciation.

"I- I may have done a little digging before our date."

Allison approached and snapped at Derek, "Thanks for pissing off my dad!"

"Why would I-" he whispered back, eyes wide.

"That was me," Stiles confessed. "And we're ready to order. We'd like the, the um- " he replied softly, but chose to bury his face in the menu to avoid the dual glares. It was deathly quiet for a moment.

"I recommend the crawfish gumbo," came Derek's deep, steady voice from across the table. Stiles peered over the top of his menu.

"Two of those?" Stiles said to Allison as she wrenched the menu from him.

Derek was still staring at him, intensely curious.

Stiles' eyes widened as yet another man approached their table. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"Neff-yewww," Peter slurred.

"How many have you had?" Derek asked.

"More than I have!" Stiles blurted.

"A lot more. Were- we can handle it better than this."

"You saying I drunk? I'm drunk?" Peter continued, leaning heavily on the table, which tilted dangerously.

"What did you have?" Derek asked as Stiles leaned onto the table to balance it.

"Something bushy. Shrubbery," Peter mumbled. "I liked it."

Stiles started texting as Derek pulled Peter down into the booth next to him.

"Lydia will know."

"Lyyyydia," Peter said, smiling to himself.

::You there, Lyd? Blind date Emergency!!!::

::What, Stiles?::

::What would get a werewolf drunk?::

There was a long pause. Derek had started his own texting now.

::I can't believe you. I know Derek Hale is way out of your league, but…::

::Not HIM his Uncle. He's in our booth now, says he drank a shrub wth::

::Shrub. Herbal concoction. Get the drink list::

Stiles dashed to the bar and grabbed the specials.

::Something called Yellow-Eyes, with lichen?::

::He needs to throw up.::

::Here?::

::Now!::

"You need to puke that drink up, right now," Stiles said authoritatively, and watched Derek's eyebrows rise to a high arch.

"Him. _He does_."

"Not gonna do that," Peter said petulantly as he slumped against Derek's shoulder.

"I'm sorry-" Derek started, but Peter collapsed into his lap and between the retching sound and the look on Derek's face as he struggled to get out of the way, Stiles was sure their date was over.

"That's better," Peter said a few moments later, sitting himself up. Derek folded the drink-soaked napkin from his lap and dropped it to the floor.

"You know, Derek has a thing for humans with big brown eyes," he continued, whispering as if Derek wouldn't hear. "When he was in high school, he had a crush on a girl named-"

The story stopped there, with Derek's hand on Peter's neck, claw tips just pricking the skin.

"We are on a date. Laura is coming to get you. Wait outside."

Peter gave Stiles a lewd wink and nodded toward Derek before vanishing out the front door.

"I apologize," said Derek, gazing firmly at the tablecloth. "Sometimes my family-"

"I apologize double," Stiles said softly. "Here comes my dad."

***

"Fancy seeing you here, Dad."

"Introduce me, Stiles."

"And with Mrs. McCall!"

"Introduce me, Stiles."

Stiles swallowed.

"Dad, this is Derek Hale."

"I know who he is. The Hales have been around longer than anyone in this town. What I don't know is why you're with my son in the most expensive place in town, in their nicest booth when we got sat over there by the door to the restrooms. And what is that weird smell?"

"Lichen cocktail," Stiles offered proudly.

"Since when do you drink cocktails?"

Melissa swooped in like the guardian angel she always was, Stiles thought.

"Stiles! Scott didn’t tell me you'd be out on the town tonight."

"Out on the town?" the sheriff repeated, unable to fit this into his worldview.

"With his handsome date, yes. As _adults do_."

"Adults?" The sheriff repeated. "Date?!"

Derek was silent, wary, and tense.

"Well, see you both later then," Stiles said helpfully, grinning like an idiot. "Wouldn't want your dinner to get cold…"

"We were just leaving. You two should get the bread pudding," Melissa offered, her hand on the sheriff's back, an unstoppable force.

"Bread pudding, yes," said the sheriff, recovering the ability to speak. "Mr. Hale, very nice to meet you. Have my son home by ten-"

Stiles buried his face in his hands, his mouth a tight downward bow.

Melissa squeezed the Sheriff's hand out of view.

"He's my son," he whispered to her.

"I raised him half the time," she countered.

"Before midnight," the sheriff amended, trying to smile at Derek. "There's a curfew after that last murder."

"Yes, Sheriff."

Stiles' head snapped back up at that capitulation, his face all disbelief and disappointment, but his father was gone.

A second later, Allison arrived with two large bowls of L'Acadien's specialty, crawfish gumbo. Its rich brown roux and tantalizing aroma restored a portion of the evening's calm.

"I didn't know what else to say," Derek responded before he even dared pick up his spoon.

"No one does. They think he's Chuck Norris but I know better."

"Why doesn't he know about wolves yet? Scott's mom knows, _you_ know. Everyone seems to but him."

"He- he wouldn't take it well. He doesn’t like surprises."

"Clearly."

Derek took a spoonful of stew and savored it. The gumbo, at least, made sense.

Derek watched Stiles take his own large mouthful of gumbo and revel in it. He took another, and a third, and Derek was happy.

"This is so good. Very good suggestion. Now tell me about – you." The sloped grin returned and Derek could feel his back muscles relaxing. He could hear the music again, soft zydeco from the corner of the restaurant.

"Sorry for Peter," he added a moment later.

"Let's not be sorry for the idiots. Let's be thankful for Scott and Cora."

Over white linen, fresh napkins and their matching bowls, Derek shared more than he'd expected to. He sensed an eager audience in Stiles.

***

Their candle had been lit, he wasn't sure when, or by whom. Stiles was quieter now, his mouth tight. Derek listened to his heart racing and wondered if Stiles was feeling this moment as much as he was.  The candle flame's golden light covered up the sickly grayish tone that crept over Stiles' cheeks.

"I think we should–" Stiles began, shakily, fighting a growing wave of nausea.

"I do too," Derek interrupted, miscalculating wildly. "I like you, Stiles. This feels good," he said, and took Stiles' hand in his own. "Maybe this Saturday?"

"Oh god-"

"Too much?"

"Too much or too fast, I don't know, I –" Stiles whispered, turning paler than the tablecloth.

Derek could smell the anxiety, verging on panic.

"Just dessert then?" he added, hoping to salvage a disastrous evening with this charming man.

Stiles' weak "I'll be right ba-" ended in a violent hurl as Stiles' stomach rejected the gumbo, repeatedly.

"Oh no no no" Stiles whispered when he could talk again. "Toilet!"

Derek shouldered him as they strode in unison into the men's room, into a stall, and Stiles puked up the rest of his dinner.

Derek's hand rested on his back, the other pulled Stiles shirt up and rested on his cramping stomach, hoping to draw some of the pain out. Stiles retched again, knees hitting the hard tile when his muscles stopped seizing. In his mind, he regretted not being more specific about his wishes for getting Derek's hands on him.

Derek retreated to the sink and returned in seconds with a cold wet towel. He wiped Stiles' neck, held him tight as he threw up a fourth time, and then wiped his face clean.

"Hospital," Stiles said weakly. "Something's wrong."

"Lean on me."

Stiles vomited once more, missing the bowl and getting most of Derek's hand, but Derek didn't even blink.

"Car's out front. Walk with me. Use the towel if you can't stop it."

They threaded their way, again in perfect sync, past the tables, past Allison's concern and Isaac's shock, right out into the cool night air and Derek's car. Stiles was heaving again, but nothing came up.

***

"Didn't pay," Stiles said, woozy.

"We own the building," Derek muttered.

"Damn you're rich."

"Just lean out and don't ruin my paint."

"So romantic."

Derek texted Cora as he drove.

::BHMH NOW BRING SCOTT::

"Not safe," Stiles mumbled, then convulsed again.

"Head - out the window."

***

The ER was a blur of waiting and retching into a tiny curved tray with little to show for it.

"How much have you had to drink?" asked the candy striper assigned to them.

"Three but I can handle-" Stiles said, retching again. He looked back up at the nurse and realized it was Erica. "Oh my god-"

"Yeah, I know. This uniform looks amazing on me."

"He had crawfish gumbo but so did I," Derek offered.

"Allergies?"

"None," Stiles said weakly. "Until now."

"We'll put you two in Exam Room 4."

***

The corridor was loud with chimes and worried voices and endless pages. Inside Exam Room 4, it was relatively quiet. Derek stood by Stiles' bed, all calm unwavering attention. Stiles writhed from time to time, and Derek extracted what pain he could, but it always returned.

When Deaton entered, Stiles actually propped himself up on his elbows, warily.

"You're a vet."

The door slid closed behind him before Deaton answered.

"I'm a werewolf vet, so it counts. They have only a few anatomical differences which I'm sure you'll find out about soon enough - Erica says you two are an item now?"

Derek blushed. Stiles slumped.

"What did he eat?" Deaton continued, unfazed.

"The same thing I did. Crawfish gumbo. I feel fine."

Deaton looked at Stiles with a curious expression.

"You ever have real gumbo before, with filé powder?"

"No-" Stiles replied raggedly.

"Don't ever have it again. I can't touch it myself, not after that first time." He looked at Stiles for a very long time, then said to Derek, "Hold onto this one. He's got a spark in him."

"If I have a spark in me, it's coming out right now," Stiles said and leaned over to heave again, drooling into his tray as his empty stomach shuddered.

"You'll recover. I did. Tell them to get your fever down. Come see me next week."

Cora burst in with Scott behind her and Deaton slipped out.

"Derek, you smell – awful," she said, making a face.

"How much did you have to drink, man?" Scott asked Stiles.

"I'll clean up – you stay with him," Derek said.

"Dude, it wasn't the drinks. It was the filé."

"You had filet?" Scott asked. "He _is_ rich."

"Derek, don't go," Stiles blurted as Derek moved away.

"He won't go far," Cora assured them. "You know, Derek knew it was you when Scott suggested the blind date."

"You did?" Stiles said, heaving as casually as he could. Scott made sure the tray was there.

"Cora, leave it," Derek said to her, quiet yet firm.

She ignored him and continued. "You made quite an impression on my brother. Specifically, on the day you left for college, when you were packing your jeep to go, and Scott was handing you box after box. You were in the back of the jeep, your pants halfway down your-"

"Cora!"

"No, they were," Scott said helpfully. "Every time you reached into the back to move a box around, your pants slipped a bit further down."

Stiles lay quietly, wishing the entire world would just go away. Derek was having similar thoughts, but more murderous.

"Derek kept up a good front," Stiles said softly, recalling their antagonism over the years and on that day in particular.

"Yeah, he does that when he likes someone."

Derek glowered from near the door.

"Cora, you can go now."

"Not till I tell him the rest!"

"There's more?" Stiles and Scott asked at the same time.

"How you cut your hand halfway through because you were so-

"Cora-"

"Ogling's not the word. Overwhelmed is the word."

Stiles had no frame of reference for a ridiculously sexy werewolf dude checking out his ass two years earlier. It was – time for everyone to leave before the hallucinations got worse.

"You know what, Scott, you and Cora can go now; I think Deaton is getting someone to give me something, for the- for the filé. And the fever. So run along-"

Melissa strode in just then, taking charge with her mere presence. Cora leaped back as Scott watched her move to take Stiles' temperature and read his chart at the same time.

"What did you eat?"

"Gumbo. Where's my dad?"

"Right behind me. No one's allergic to gumbo. Food poisoning?"

"I had it too," Derek offered again.

"Healing powers?" Melissa asked him.

"Deaton said it was the filé powder," Stiles rasped. "Could I get some water?"

"No one's allergic to filé either. But you've got a 102° fever. I'll get something for that."

Derek came to him with water.

"Thanks."

The sheriff burst in with "Where's my son?"

"Right here dad, I'm good," Stiles croaked.

Melissa caught the Sheriff at the foot of the bed and calmed him, while Derek waved Cora off with a nod of his head; she didn't go far though. Allison and Isaac arrived ten minutes later, Isaac muttering incessantly about cleaning up vomit; Scott kept them both away from Stiles and Derek. Laura drove Peter to the hospital, leading to a tense standoff at the door of Exam Room four, but nothing like the awkwardness when Chris Argent arrived.

Stiles was in a haze now, a haze that included the dull roar of many voices and the surprisingly conversational eyebrows of Derek Hale, his blind date no more. Nothing much else intruded into that world, apart from a tingle where Derek's hand rested inches from his arm.

"Nothing like barfing all over your date four or five dozen times," he said, smiling, but unable to make eye contact.

"I won't forget it," Derek said softly, his eyes locked on Stiles face, waiting patiently for him to turn and meet that gaze.

"Date a werewolf," Stiles mumbled, no longer entirely coherent. "What do I have to lose?"

Stiles wanted to slide down, cover his face with the blanket, just… disappear.

"And who gave him the right to be so damn attractive on a first date?" slipped out as Stiles stared up at the ceiling, dehydrated and dizzy.  
   
It was barely audible over the increasingly heated ten-person argument taking place at the foot of the bed. Derek's large eyes grew larger at those words, and his mouth twitched up at one corner but he pretended he'd heard nothing. He watched the moles slowly slip from view as Stiles turned his head toward him. His mouth was a small "o" of "oh shit did I say that out loud?"

"You're still here," Stiles said, trying to be casual.

"Someone has to keep the insanity at a distance."

"You must really like my butt."

"Shut up, Stiles. Sleep."

Derek rested his hand gently on Stiles' forearm, registered the reaction, heard the various beeping machines register it as well, and dropped his head shyly. His thumb made lazy ovals in the dark hair just above Stiles' wrist.

"Yeah you do," mumbled Stiles and dozed off.

 

\ THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider contributing to:  
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> [Random Acts](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.randomacts.org%2F&t=NzQ3NjUyMzJjNjUzYmY3MmFiOWNmNTU5MTgwZmQ0N2U5NDZlMzEyYyxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [Natural Resources Defense Council](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.nrdc.org&t=Mjc3ZDRmMDYxYzI4YTkwMGQwYzc0ZjAyZTc0NzdlYjE2Y2MwZWMyMSxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [The Nature Conservancy](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.nature.org&t=NGMxODY1MDQwYmNlYzdiZjU3ZGI4MGJiZDg4Yzc5MjUwNDRmY2NjZSxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [Oxfam America](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.oxfamamerica.org&t=NjNkYTY5MzA5M2M4NTZlYjQwNzg0NWUwNDA3ZWExZGUxYjA2ZGEwOSxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [National Immigrant Justice Center](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.immigrantjustice.org&t=YzU5ZDkwNjNmMmM0OGE5OWNmMzY5NTcxNzc5ZGJmMGQ2OGUzYWY5ZixUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [ProPublica](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.propublica.org&t=MDcxNmZhODIxNDc3YmI0ZTdkODdiZWMxMzBhNmRkNGY5NTM1MGY5MixUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [TransLifeline](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.translifeline.org&t=Y2NiYjAxMGM0OTBmOTJmNmIzYWRhOGJmZDZmMzZjZjIwZDk0MjMwMCxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rainn.org%2Findex.php&t=OWE1MTEyMjNmOThjMDk5Njc2ZTI5OTA4NzdiYWU4ZjM2YWQ0NjE1OSxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [The Southern Poverty Law Center](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.splcenter.org%2F&t=ZTU4OTFiMzBkNDQyYTJhYjI2NGQ1YzFlN2ZlZGQ1NGFmMGI2MjZlYyxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [Standing Rock](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fstandingrock.org%2Fnews%2Fstanding-rock-sioux-tribe--dakota-access-pipeline-donation-fund%2F&t=YmY0NmMzNWI2N2NjMjUwZWNkNDEwN2QyMmZiNjVhZWUwNjE3NjhlNCxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)  
> [The Trevor Project](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thetrevorproject.org%2F&t=ZDgxM2VjMGJkMmJlMjRhMjI4YThlZmMyNDRkOTZkNzBhYWI2MWZjNSxUbU4zdWpESg%3D%3D&p=&m=0)


End file.
